Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(38)

A flurry of pawing and digging sent another deluge of snow down upon their heads. A chunk slipped under her camisole and made a cold trail down her back.

“Move to the corner.” Connell jerked to a spot next to the fireplace. The urgency of his tone sent her scrambling.

She dragged the blankets around her and crawled to the safety of the corner.

More snow poured into the shack until a paw reached through a hole in the ceiling and swiped at the air.

She huddled against the damp earth and breathed in the moldy scent of rotting logs from the wall behind her. Would the decaying structure be strong enough to protect them?

Connell pointed the gun at the ceiling and backed up until he was standing in front of her. Without moving his aim, he lowered himself to one knee, providing a barrier between her and the wolf.

The wolf retreated and began digging again. Snow fell through the cracks in another spot of the roof.

“I was hoping they wouldn’t find the weak places.” He looked from one area of the roof to the other as if he couldn’t decide where to aim the gun.

“Did you know the wolves would come?” She shivered and wrapped the blankets tighter.

“I figured once the storm abated, they’d catch our scent. But I was hoping they’d leave us alone.”

The scratching at the door started again.

He flipped the gun to the door. “Apparently they’ve decided to attack us with all they’ve got.”

The branch against the door rattled.

Her body tensed, every nerve ready to fight, even though she doubted she could stand. “What can I do to help? Tell me.”

“I need you to unsheathe my knife.” He cocked his head to indicate the side where she’d find it.

She reached for the edge of his shirt and hesitated only a moment before slipping it upward.

“Hurry.”

Her fingers fumbled to lift the flannel higher until she found the scabbard against his ribs. She worked the knife out, trying not to graze him.

Finally she clutched the handle and let the shirt drop back into place.

His chest deflated, and only then did she realize he’d been holding his breath. Did her touch affect him as much as his did her?

“Hold on to the knife and be ready to hand it to me when I ask for it.”

“Don’t you want me to use it?”

He shook his head. “Just have it ready.”

If she hadn’t been so weak, she might have argued with him. As it was, she fell back against the wall, her body trembling with a wave of weariness.

The branch propped against the door scraped open a fraction. And the digging at the first hole in the roof resumed with a chorus of yips.

As the sliver in the door widened, splinters and branches from the roof caved in.

She didn’t want to cower, but she had the awful vision of being cornered by wolves with no escape.

The door rattled and the branch slipped away. A slender head poked in. Golden eyes rimmed with black narrowed on them. In another second the wolf squeezed through the opening. It was thin enough she could see ribs protruding in its heaving sides. It dipped its head, laid its ears back, and growled, exposing a ridge of sharp yellowed teeth and fangs. Frozen saliva dangled from one side of its mouth.

The beast crouched lower and began creeping toward them.

Connell swung the gun toward the intruder, but a snarl at the hole in the roof drew his attention upward again. The roof was giving way to the wolf’s scraping and in an instant the opening would be big enough for it to drop through.

She clutched the knife, her fingers stiff and numb with fear. How could they fight them all off?

“Get ready to hand me the knife,” Connell said with a voice that was low and calm. He raised the gun to the ceiling and took aim down the long barrel.

“Now.” Even as he said the word, he pulled the trigger.

In a blur of fear and hot dizziness, she held the knife toward him.

The crack of gunfire exploded in the air. At the same time his fingers gripped the knife, and before she could take another breath, he flung the blade with surprising swiftness and precision across the span of the hovel directly into the heart of the wolf creeping toward them.

The beast gave a sharp yip, took one step forward, and then crumpled to the dirt floor. A bright spot of red seeped through the thick grayish fur across its chest.

Connell stood, and with the smoking rifle aimed on the roof, he crossed to the door and slammed it closed. He leaned against it and studied the ceiling.

His jaw twitched and his finger cradled the trigger.

For a long moment they listened.

Silence descended around them, almost as if the world had deserted them completely.

“Are they gone?” she finally whispered.

“For now.”

She let out a shaky breath and let her body slump.

He shoved the wolf with his boot.

It didn’t move.

With a swift jerk he slid the knife from the wolf’s chest. Blood bubbled out across the fur and dripped into the dirt.

She stifled a shudder. “I wouldn’t want to face you in a fight, not with the way you handle your knife.”

“You can thank my dad for that.” He stooped and brushed the blade against the carcass, wiping it clean. Then he tucked it out of sight under his shirt. “He wanted his sons to know how to fight—I suppose so that no one could ever beat us up and leave us for dead.”